


it hurts to become

by Octeaviea



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Lexa still dies, Reincarnation, basically jedi nightbloods, bc i cannot deal, but the conclaves that chose the commander don't result in the deaths of the novitiates, or a hint of it, sisterhood of the travelling AI, so Lexa doesn't really stay dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octeaviea/pseuds/Octeaviea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this world, the Nightbloods who don't ascend to the throne go on to become healers, warriors, fishermen, handmaidens, but when Lexa dies, they all feel the bullet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it hurts to become

To be commander is to be alone, but they never are, not truly. When Costia dies Ontari feels Lexa’s pain sing through her blood. When Lexa kisses Clarke for the first time a girl called Mary slices her hand open with a fishhook off the stormy Eastern coast, made clumsy with a joy that is not her own. Six Nightbloods die in the massacre led by Pike and in her bedroom in Polis Lexa almost throws up with the pain of their loss.

And when Lexa dies, every living Nightblood feels the bullet.

_“The commander is dead. Lexa is dead. Our Lexa.”_

The message sings through their skin, pulling them to Polis.

_“Another must be chosen.”_

And they come. From every corner of the continent from the seas to the east, and the empty, sandy deserts to the south, leaving fishing villages and cities that they helped to build. As they draw nearer to Polis, as the first Nightbloods enter the gates the message changes,

_“Lexa was murdered, Lexa was shot, a stray bullet from her Flamekeeper meant for the heart of her lover.”_

_“Lexa was one of our own, and blood will have blood.”_

Then the message condenses, a single word humming through the blood of every living Natblida.

_“Treason, treason, treason.”_

And so they come. Healers and warriors and mothers. From the seas and the mountains and the valleys. And Ontari, who has learned from birth that she is alone in the world, that no one could ever love an orphan, a monster, a killer, is swept by the tide of her blood from her frozen home towards the capitol. Titus was a liar, has always been a liar, to be a Nightblood is to never be truly alone.

There are 78 living Nightbloods. There have over a hundred since the catastrophes, but many died in the early conclaves, and some in wars or by illness or assassination or old age. The world is cruel, even to those whose blood runs rich with power.

After their conclaves are over they return, bloody, to the villages where they were born, or they take a horse from the Polician stables and ride hard and fast in whatever direction they choose. Their families welcome them as heroes or abandon them as failures. They become healers, or warriors, clan leaders or parents, politicians or farmers, handmaidens or fishermen. They live, and die and love and lose and feel every loss and triumph singing through their blood.

The oldest living Nightblood is called Elena and she is 87. She was sixteen at her own conclave and the commander who ascended was her best friend. They had once shared a secret bag of chocolate, squirrelled away in some doomsday bunker they had found together. They were barely more than children, taught to hold swords in a world that not so long ago had taught their children to hold college certificates and candy bars and flowers. She was jealous of her friends ascension, until six years later in her healers tent she felt the ghost of an arrow rip through her shoulder and then, just after, the swing of imagined steel through her neck. Elena hasn’t tasted chocolate since. To be commander is to die young and to be a Nightblood is to bear every loss.

This conclave lasts three days. It ends with Ontari and Aiden standing together before Lexa’s throne with Titus lying dead at their feet and then very slowly, as the bright eyes of all the Nightbloods from all the previous conclaves and all the tired eyes of the Nightbloods from their own watch him, Aden unsheathes his dagger and slices open his palm and carefully traces Lexa’s war pattern on Ontari’s cheeks in his own blood. To be commander is to put all who love you in danger and Aden has a sister to think of. She smiles at him through a black bloody nose in the doorway and Aden walks to join her, leaving Ontari standing alone before the commanders throne

As Ontari stands before the room, face pale and streaked with Aden’s blood every Nightblood drops to their knees until Ontari is the last one standing and a whisper thrums through her aching head.

_“Heda.”_

And far away, in a house by the sea, a baby shifts in her cradle, opens her green eyes, and begins to cry.


End file.
